


A Handful Of Moments I Wish I Could Change

by Cuthwyn



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Fate is a cruel mistress, Gen, Resurrected Jason Todd, Tim lets go of his logic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuthwyn/pseuds/Cuthwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where instead of wandering 12 miles away from his graveside to just collapse alone on the side of the road things turn out a little differently for Jason Todd</p>
<p>One insomniac little Robin ventures out into the storm that cut out the cemetery's camera. </p>
<p>Logic be damned, Tim is certain that this thunder storm means more than just electricity.</p>
<p>Is the one little change enough to change fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is just and idea that was dancing around my head whilst I was trying to study. Can fate ever be truly changed or are we all destined to walk the same path regardless.

Rain was not a stranger to Gotham City, neither was thunder, in fact a seasoned Gothamite wouldn’t even say it was ‘breezy’ until you were chasing your umbrella down the street.

The storm currently rampaging through the city, however, shook it to it’s very foundations. It was as if God himself was raging, the very earth seemed to tremble with every clash of thunder, every violent assault of gale force winds. 

Even the most hardened criminals had remained indoors. Bruce had patted Tim on the shoulder, instructed him to stay at the manor, to go to bed. Naturally, the young boy ignored his mentor’s wishes and had stayed down in the belly of the Batcave, sifting through the files on the Batcomputer.   
An unholy crash of thunder erupted from far above. Lifting his head, Tim frowned when the light illuminating Jason’s costume in its glass case flickered off. God really was pissed about something. Tim snorted at his own silent joke and went back to work, ignoring the haunting sense of unease that seeped into his very bones, chilling him.

Another crash of thunder and a gust of wind that almost sounded like a scream.

Tim forced his attention back on the case files but he couldn’t concentrate. He wanted to look over at Jason’s costume and yet he had this odd, knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. This was stupid. It was just a storm. A completely natural occurrence and it had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the direct hand of a vengeful god. This was not the dark ages and he had an IQ high enough to not believe such jargon.

‘Leave me alone Jason. I’m sorry. I had to do it. Batman needs a Robin. Surely you must understand?’

Yelling out the words seemed to ease the boy’s anxiety a bit (it was anxiety, not fear, he wasn’t frightened of a completely fictitious ghost) He was a thirteen-year-old vigilante for crying out loud, he refused to be spooked by ghost stories and bangs in night. Even if the Batcave was a little creepier than usual tonight. In the corner of his eye he noticed the light over the glass case flicker back on again. Jesus, it was like the beginning of a horror movie. 

‘This is ridiculous’ Tim muttered under his breath. Giving up on his work he closed down the windows and decided that maybe Bruce was right; the only constructive thing that could be done tonight was attempt to get a full 8 hours of sleep for once. He’d only been doing this gig officially for 3 months and already sleep was becoming more like a long lost friend. He had a feeling deep in his gut that the days of having a relatively healthy sleep pattern were never coming back.

Another clash of thunder. Woah, that sounded directly above him. He could almost hear the flash of lightening that followed immediately after. All the electrics flickered off and for a terrifying moment he thought the Batcave had lost power. Which was near impossible. The place had more back up generators than Gotham General.   
The light on Jason’s costume had gone off again. Man that kid had a temper, and himself, a sickeningly morbid sense of humour apparently. The small amused smile fell off his face though when he cast a final glance at the multiple camera feeds Bruce had running across the city.   
All were intact.

Except one.

The camera in Gotham’s cemetery had cut out.

Shaking his head, Tim chuckled softly and pushed away from the Batcomputer to go to upstairs. Never again was he letting Dick coerce him into watching an R rated movie, not matter how much he gave him those wounded puppy dog eyes.  
This was just a storm. One silly, completely natural storm. He was looking for explanations for things that were easily explained by the simplest laws of physics. Making his way over to the staircase the boy stopped and looked up at the costume of his predecessor. The light flickered back on.

Glancing back at the camera feeds the one in the cemetery was still out and Tim pursed his lips.

It was no use. Something was wrong, he just knew something was wrong.   
No naturally occurring storm outed the power to the Batcave. None.

Ignoring Bruce’s direct order, ignoring his own damn self-preservation, Tim fixed his mask and headed out into the night. Out into the screaming wind and angry thunder.

To face God’s wrath.


	2. The Payphone

The storm had started to pass but icy cold rain still hammered down mercilessly, strong gusts of winds battered a small boy's frame, almost knocking him off his feet. 

Nothing had been left intact. Limbs of trees, benches and God knows what else lay strewn around the cemetery creating a pretty lethal obstacle course, the pitch blackness, due to nearly every light being either smashed or shorted out, did not help matters.

Gritting his teeth Tim steeled himself against the onslaught and pushed forwards towards the gates of Gotham's cemetery. He had to get out. With trembling hands, he dug out his mobile in the hopes of finally retrieving some signal, a strangled cry left his lips, his mobile that had been running on a low battery was now completely dead. Useless.

Boots slid through churned up mud, it was like running through molasses. His heart beat frantically in his chest and he couldn't breathe. The fear sent his addled mind reeling further as he gaped pathetically for air logic dictated he was getting. He couldn't breathe, was convinced he was dying but he kept going, he had to keep going. It was paramount that he found a phone.

Heavy iron gates were heaved open and the boy tore through them into the street. Despite the late hour the street was filling up with brave members of the public who were venturing outside now the storm was dying down. Some noticed the traumatized boy dressed as Robin tearing down the street but none tried to stop him. None stopped to ask if he was okay even though it was obvious he was far from it. Gotham and humanity were a toxic mix and it hardened people's hearts if they weren't careful. A traumatized child was never a good thing and it was in their own best interests to bow their heads and pretend they didn't see, especially when there was a high possibility that the distraught child was Robin. 

Tim paid no heed to them. His attention was purely focused on remembering where the nearest pay phone was. The little glass box finally loomed into view and please, oh please let it not have been vandalized. Tim slammed his entire weight against the door before pulling it open and stepping inside. The phone hung in its cradle, intact. 

Huffing a shallow breath of relief Tim reached for it shakily and dialed the most obvious, easiest number to remember.  
'911 what's your emergency?'   
Tim had every intention of speaking to the woman but when he opened his mouth he found himself mute.  
'911 what's your emergency? Is anyone there?'   
What on earth was he doing? He couldn't get the authorities involved in this could he? 

His bloodied and dirty hands caught his attention, his eyes travelled to the glass door, the buttons on the pay phone. All smeared in the same bloodied dirt. His own blood ran cold and he gasped for breath again.   
'911 what's your emergency? Hello?'  
‘Sorry. No.' Tim muttered before hanging up and closing his eyes tightly.

What now? He should call Bruce; he'd know what to do. After all the man deserved to know what was happening, no, he needed to know. Setting his jaw Tim picked up the receiver again, a gloved finger hovering over the buttons. What was the manor’s number? Bruce's mobile? Dick’s even? Frowning Tim discovered to his horror that he could not remember. Crap. How could he forget? In such a crucial circumstance, everything relied on him, on him doing the right thing, being prepared and he was failing miserably. 

An anguished cry echoed around the booth which Tim only vaguely recognized as his own when a little fist smashed through the glass door in frustrated anger. He blinked at his arm in the phone booth door, glass slicing through the exposed section of skin and he felt as if he was spiraling in a whirlpool.   
A small white card was lying amongst the smashed glass; it must have been tucked into the door's frame. The logo caught his attention and Tim bent down to pick it up. Reading the name and number on it he smiled and flew back to the phone, jamming the number in a quickly as humanly possible. 

'Hello? Need Dr Thompkins.'  
Tim spat out when the call was answered not waiting for the receptionist to start her usual greeting.   
'Um, who may I say is calling?'  
'Please I need Dr Thompkins. He's going to die again.'  
There seemed to be a brief, if slightly heated exchange on the other end of the phone until a familiar, calming voice came on and Tim began to sob out of sheer relief.  
'Hello Dr Thompkins here. It's okay, son. Can you tell me your name?'  
'It’s- I’m Robin.'   
There was a momentary silence before Leslie spoke again but to him it seemed like a lifetime.  
'Tim?' She spoke in hushed tones and he could almost picture the woman's kind smile, grounding touch. 'Tim I need you to take deep breaths for me okay?' 

Tim nodded and tried his best to do as Dr Thompkins said, he followed her instructions to breath in and then out again at a steady rate. Slowly, for the first time since he went to the cemetery Tim actually felt like he wasn't dying.   
'That's it. Good boy. Now, can you tell me what's happened Tim? Are you hurt?'  
'No'   
'Is someone else hurt?'   
'Y-yes' He was starting to struggled to maintain the breathing Dr Thompkins had told him to do, failing, again. 'I swear I didn't do it.' There was a pause and Tim winced suddenly realizing that he sounded like one of the criminals that fell through the clinics doors. Like Jason, not that he was a criminal.  
‘Are they dead?’  
‘N-No not anymore. I don't think so.’  
Tim almost whimpered, looking back out towards the cemetery fearfully.  
‘Okay. Are they alive?’   
Closing his eyes Tim shook his head and began sobbing again, smearing blood and mud further on his face when he tried to wipe tears away.  
'I don't know. I don't know.' 

‘Well,’ Dr Thompkins sounded a little confused. ‘If they are not dead and they are not alive, what else can they be?’  
‘I erm’ Tim shook his head and frowned slightly, desperately trying to come up with a rational explanation. ‘A zombie?’  
Really? That was the best he could come up with?  
Dr Thompkins' skepticism was clear by the way she hummed in response to his reply.  
'Right, okay. Tim? I’m coming to get you. Where are you?’

Tim swallowed a knot of tears and nodded before realizing that the good doctor could not see him.   
'Tim? Are you still there?'  
'Th-The cemetery. His grave. Please, please come quick.'   
Tim didn't wait for Dr Thompkins’ reply. Hanging up the phone the boy ran back out into the night, back to Jason Todd's graveside.


	3. Asystole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter.   
> Not one of my best but hey ho it moves the story along and serves it's purpose.

Tim could not run fast enough back to Gotham’s cemetery, and it seemed like forever until Jason Todd’s headstone came into view. He skidded to a halt in the mire of mud that surrounded the large hole, that not half an hour ago had held the corpse of a fifteen-year-old teenager. Eyes widening Tim rushed over to the empty spot where he had helped what should have been a corpse, lie down to catch his breath. 

A soft grunting caught his attention, looking up he spotted Jason in his torn, sodden dinner suit a few meters away, using the gravestones to haul himself along. Tim had to admit he was impressed. The kid had been beaten, blown up and then had dug his way out of his own grave yet still somehow possessed the stamina and energy to walk away. Tim was awestruck, very much like he had been watching Jason as Robin, if not more so. Letting out a rattling moan Jason’s legs shook violently and he tumbled down to the ground.  
'Jason! Jason? I'm back, like I promised. Are you okay?' Kneeling down in the sludge Tim placed a hand gently on the elder’s shoulder, forcing a smile when hazy, haunted blue eyes snapped to his. 'Dr Thompkins is coming. Jason?'   
Jason gasped a rattling breath and appeared to try to clamber back up to his feet before collapsing with a worryingly breathy moan.  
'No. No Jason stop. Please stop. Your safe Jason.'   
'Brruss' The older boy slurred, fighting to stand again until Tim touched his cheek, reacting to the contact Jason turned towards it, stilling his attempts to keep moving in search of his protector.

'Bruce.' Tim replied back to him with a nod. So far Todd hadn’t comprehended anything he had said to him but maybe, maybe talking about his adopted father would help Tim convince him that he was safe. Jason's empty eyes sparked back to life slightly and he looked as if he was trying to copy the nod.   
'Brrruss'   
'Bruce. Bruce is coming.' Tim assured him. The undead fifteen-year-old sighed heavily. His breath worryingly rattily and shallow. A punctured lung. The crowbar. 

Tim forced a smile and placed both hands on Jason's shoulders, coaxing him to lie against him, but Jason tensed again.  
'Bruce.' He coaxed softly. The name relaxed Todd and he let himself be drawn into the younger boy’s arms.   
‘Bruss’  
His body was ice cold and the rain can't be helping, he'll get sick if he stays this cold. Pursing his lips Tim unclipped his cape and spread in over Jason carefully, making sure not to aggravate any injuries, there were so many.  
'Bruce.' Tim kept repeating the name in the hopes to keep the older boy calm. It seemed to work, Jason grunted slightly and wrapped the cape tighter around himself before lying back fully against Tim with a shudder.

A frown knotted across Jason’s brow slightly, a bloodied and broken hand that was more bone than flesh traced the 'R' on Tim’s costume.   
'You remember that? Jason?' Again there was no reaction to his name. 'Robin?' Tim tried again. The boy blinked slightly and placed his hand over the 'R' 'Bruss'   
Tim smiled weakly and nodded. Reaching down he ripped the 'R' from his chest, then pressed it into Jason's bleeding hands  
'Yours.'   
Jason stared at the R blankly and made no response. 

In silence, the two boy's lay in the rain and the mud, the younger curling around the older to shield him from the elements.  
Tim couldn't stop staring. Jason stank like a decaying corpse, hell up until tonight he had been dead for 6 months, it was expected. His body was littered with injuries he had sustained during his beating followed by the explosion. Those injuries weren't what disturbed Tim though. It's was the older boy's hands, nails ripped from their beds and the white of knuckle bone peeping through his bleeding fists, evidence of his terror to wake up in and break out of his own coffin. Eyelids that encircled his blue eyes were ripped and bleeding, his lips too. A corpse’s eyes and lips were usually glued shut before burial. His face still showed evidence of makeup, an undertaker’s trick to aid the grieving family by making the deceased look alive, as if their loved one was merely sleeping.  
That, was what unnerved the shell shocked thirteen-year-old, the undeniable fact that he wasn't just cradling a beaten and broken boy, no, the boy he was holding had been dead, beyond all reasonable doubt. Murdered, brutally by the Joker six long months ago.   
Shivering slightly Tim looked across to Jason's gravestone, the deep crack running down it from where lightening had struck it. That couldn't be the explanation for Todd’s resurrection though. Electricity could only correct a hearts rhythm, there was no way it could restart a heart that not only was without any electric impulse but had been asystolic for 6 months. He was human not Frankenstein's monster.

'Bruss' Jason called the name out again, his voice barely audible as he fought for breath, always fighting, it was comforting to see. The Jason Tim had known was a stubborn cocky asshole who fought on despite everything. The teenage delinquent’s eyes began to droop, his head lulling forwards to rest on his chest.  
'No, no Jason don't go to sleep' Tim cried out in fear, tapping frantically on the boy’s cheek he fought to keep him awake, Todd's stubbornness now working against him. He couldn't let Jason fall asleep, terrified that if he let him slip into unconsciousness he'd never wake again. Tim wasn't going to let Jason die, not again. 'Come on Jason. Stay with me, stay awake, fight, fight come on.' Tim coaxed, jostling Jason slightly in a bid to keep him alert. 'Bruce?'  
'Bruss' Came a groggy reply. Smiling Tim watched those blue eyes flicker open once more, staring up at him with a blank intensity.

A hum of an engine reverberated over the drone of the fading storm, the sound was as glorious as the arrival of a symphony of angels. Peering over his shoulder Tim recognized a familiar, clunky, old, Chevrolet crawl up the gravel path, it's headlights illuminating them as the vehicle drew nearer. Dr Thompkins, finally. Jason did not share his feelings of relief it seemed however. The boy gave out a horrible gargling cry and fought Tim to get away from the bright light shining in his sensitive eyes, immediately Tim shielded them with the cape and hushed him gently. 'Bruce? Bruce Jason.'

The car stopped and Leslie clambered out, looking slightly bedraggled with wisps of grey hair escaping her bun, medical bag in hand.  
'Tim?'  
'Doctor Thompkins! Over here. Come quick. He can't breathe.'   
Nodding Leslie jogged towards him and Tim motioned to the lump cover up by his cape.  
The only parts of Todd that were visible was a tuft of dark hair and the bottoms of his suit pants and battered brogues.  
'He had a collapsed lung, he can't breathe, there's head trauma, he's tachycardic and his hands, his hands Dr Thompkins.'   
Leslie nodded along to the boy's rapid account of his 'friends' condition, taking it all in her usual calm demeanor, before placing a hand firmly on the young boy's shoulder.   
'It's okay Tim. I'm here now. '   
Tim swallowed and nodded before pulling back his cape apprehensively, unable to find the words to explain, to prepare Dr Thompkins for who she was about to see. Jason had been a favorite patient of hers and she had always held a soft spot for him, ever since his days as a nameless street kid.   
'Jason? How?' Leslie half whispered before rushing over and dropping to her knees before the fifteen-year-old, immediately breaking out her stethoscope and checking his vitals with trembling hands.  
'I don't know. I found him digging out of his grave. Bruce has forbidden me from going out alone, but, the camera went off in the cave, I just came to check.' Tim explained watching the doctor examine Jason, he could see the panic in her eyes. The panicked look all medics seemed to possess. Their body language said they were in control but their eyes? No, their eyes spoke of a silent fear that they were dealing with something way out of their depth.

Jason cried out again and tried to fight Leslie when she shined her torch in his eyes. Leaping to her aid Tim stroked Jason’s face and hushed him again.  
'It's okay Jason. This is Leslie. Don't you remember her? You liked her and stole all her lollipops during your visits.' Tim joked smiling encouragingly at Jason, who at least seemed to still when the torch shined in his eyes again.  
'Bruss' He whimpered, a fist curling into Tim's tunic. Humming at this vocalization, Leslie sat back on her haunches and observed him in bemusement.  
'He's alive Tim, somehow, but the damage?' Closing her eyes Leslie clambered back to her feet and motioned for Tim to do the same. 'I'm going to splint him and then we move him to my car okay? I have oxygen in there. I need you to keep him calm until we get to the clinic. Can you do that for me?'

Before long Tim was sat on the floor in the back of Dr Thompkins’ car, which sped like a bat out of hell back to her clinic in the Bowery. The doctor shot concerned glances at the boys through her rear-view mirror intermittently as she drove. Tim pursed his lips for the millionth time that night and moved the oxygen mask back onto Jason's face. The boy had fought then tooth and nail as they secured him onto a board and lay him on the backseat. Despite himself Drake had a new found respect for Bruce, when Jason didn't want to do something you had one hell of a fight on your hands and right now? Jason did not want to be in the car with Tim and Leslie. He ripped off the oxygen mask repeatedly and struggled to sit up. The only words to escape his lips were desperate cries for Bruce, for his protector, his father to come save him. Tim couldn't help but wonder if he was truly acting to outer stimuli or stuck in the last emotional reaction he had. Beaten half to death watching a bomb tick down to zero realizing that Batman wasn't coming to bail him out this time.  
'Hush Jason. Bruce? I promise Jason, Bruce is coming for you.' Jason's eyes snapped back to him and Tim had an uneasy feeling that despite the boy's dire condition he was going to be held to that promise.


	4. One in two sexually active people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a little longer than planned, I hope it's not too long?
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! :)

One in two sexually active people will get an STD by the age of twenty-five. Tim had read the same line on the sexual health poster pinned to the waiting room wall so many times the statistic was ingrained into his mind. The grotesque pink bubble writing will be the main theme to his nightmares for the foreseeable. He wasn’t entirely sure why but he had begun reading it when he’d first sat down and now seemed unable to stop. It did however, give him something to do and eased the tangled knots his thoughts had become in the last few hours, enabling him to pick them apart and dissect each one at leisure, he needed to remember this tactic for the future. Would Alfred tolerate having a poster on sexual health on the wall in Tim’s bedroom at the manor? 

Dr Thompkins had whisked Jason off as soon as they had arrived. She had permitted Tim to accompany Jason at first, his presence seemed to calm the teenager. That was until Leslie had managed to stabilize Todd and had gone to sedate him. Tim had flung himself on the top of his predecessor, screaming at Dr Thompkins at the top of his lungs, begging her not to put him to sleep. If Jason went to sleep he might not wake up, he might stop being real, vanish, and he would be left alone again.

It was such reckless behaviour that resulted in him being banished to the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room with a cup of juice and a cookie which sat forgotten on the window sill. 

A young student nurse had scurried over and stitched his arm but he paid little attention to her smiles. Her incessant caring nature became unbearable and he had ended up snapping at her, refusing to surrender his hands to be scrutinised and cleaned. The student nurse (for the life of him he could not remember her name) had nodded briskly and left him alone. Tim felt a little guilty about how he’d spoken to her, the nurse had seemed nice and her smile so warm, comforting, the waiting room seemed cold and empty without her presence. The small, cuts and grazes on his hands were now stinging due to the grime buried in them, he really should have let the nurse clean his hands he mused quietly to himself.  
The receptionist had offered to ring his parents but Tim had just thanked her politely, informing her that they were out of town. The receptionist had frowned at this but apparently had the street sense to not press further. The woman now typed away at her computer throwing him concerned glances every now and then, he ignored them.

Peeling his eyes from the poster Tim looked down at the torn, soiled, black dinner jacket clutched tightly in his hands. It was Jason’s. From what he knew of Robin, he hated suits, with a vengeance. It seemed odd and not very fitting for Jason's final outfit to be an expensive black dinner suit complete with tie and polished brogues. Trailing his fingers along the bloody lapel Tim paused at the odd bump in the breast pocket. Dipping his hand inside he pulled out an unopened packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Hitching his breath Tim's eyes snapped back to the sexual health poster. Maybe he should get tested? Wait. What? Why was he considering that? He hadn't even kissed another human being never mind had sex with one.

The clinic’s doors swung open, crashing against the wall, as Bruce Wayne tore through, before turning sharply and frowning at the familiar dark haired boy at on a plastic chair, dressed in a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt; both miles too big for him.  
'Tim?'  
The boy did not react. He just carried on staring blankly at the opposite wall.  
'Tim!'  
Bruce knelt down in front of the boy and tapped his cheek lightly. The far off distant look on the boy's face worried him greatly.  
'Tim? What's happened? Are you hurt?'

'One in two sexually active people will get an STD by the age of twenty-five.' Came a hushed reply. Frowning Bruce studied Tim. His traumatised expression, the blood and dirt that covered his tiny body, the clothes that didn't fit him, the stitched up gash on his forearm. Everything slotted into place and a heavy, cold feeling knotted in the belly of his stomach and Bruce became eerily still.  
'What happened to you Tim?' It was Batman that spoke, his face firm an emotionless, he looked deeply into Drake's eyes. The tone snapped Tim out of it, blinking he frowned down at his appearance before his eyes widened.  
'Oh God!' Eyes snapping up to meet Bruce's, he shook his head and gave a nervous laugh. ‘No, not that. I'm fine, I'm totally fine. I, er, I've been reading the poster.'  
'Poster?'

Following Tim’s gaze Bruce allowed himself a sigh of relief when he spotted the sexual health poster, sporting the statistics Tim had quoted at him. Thank the Lord, that was an experience he did not wish to have with a traumatised teenager ever again, once was more than enough. It was hard to admit but he despised being in Leslie’s clinic of late, every inch of it just brought back dark and painful memories of Jason that he’d rather forget. He didn’t want to remember those sorts of things about his lost adopted son, ever. Inhaling deeply Bruce closed his eyes for a moment before giving Tim a long, hard, stare that made him shrink back into the plastic chair slightly.  
' I told you to stay at the manor did I not? You know the rules. You do not go out without me, under any circumstances.'  
'B-but-'  
'No Timothy. What on earth possessed you? You know why the rule exists.'

Bruce expected Tim to look upset, remorseful, but instead his eyes glazed over with trauma and a distressed little squeak escaped from him. Bruce pursed his lips and looked down at the jacket clutched tightly in the boy’s fist, in the other was a packet of Malboro cigarettes.  
That heavy weight in his heart increased notably and he couldn’t help but reach out to prise the packet from Tim's grip, studying them silently. It had been six long, painful months and still the world seemed to want to dangle Jason in front of him every waking second and then plague his dreams with him when sleep finally did claim him.  
'Jason smoked these.' He hadn't realised that he had vocalised his thought until Tim literally fell into hysterics. Big fat tears plopped onto his marred cheeks, mixing with the blood and dirt there. His little body trembling but instead of the usual child's response to seek comfort, Tim coiled in on himself.  
'S-sorry'  
'Hush. Hush it's okay Tim. It's okay.' Bruce soothed, his mind running a million miles an hour, trying to work out what the hell was going on. Pulling the boy to the floor with him he wrapped his arms firmly around Tim and held him close to his chest.  
The boy tensed and tried to push away before realising that it was futile and at least stopping his struggle even if he didn't relax fully into the hug.  
'I- I'm fine.' Tim protested shakily, fighting still to take control of himself and calm down but losing woefully.  
'You are not fine Tim. Let's wait until Leslie comes and we'll talk to her.' Bruce offered finally relenting to the fact that he would be getting nothing out of his Robin. Whatever had happened to him tonight had shaken him badly. Lifting his eyes back to the poster he prayed to God that he hadn't been lied to.

‘Bruce. You have arrived. Thank goodness.’  
Jumping slightly at the voice Bruce glanced over his shoulder and loosened his grip on Tim, allowing him to scurry back onto the plastic chair, pulling the random jacket back against his chest. Bruce’s brow furrowed at this and he rose to his feet and turned around.  
Leslie was stood before him her scrubs spotless but her hair hung out of her bun in frazzled clumps, deep shadows encircled tired eyes and a small, strained smile was fixed on her face. Something was wrong, very wrong and Bruce felt like he was being kept in the dark, he hated being kept in the dark.  
‘What the hell is going on Leslie? Why is Tim sat in your waiting room in bits?’ Bruce couldn’t help but growl out in frustration but as usual his behaviour had little to no effect on the doctor who just sighed.  
‘ Bruce. Please, come with me.’  
‘Leslie, I demand to know what is going on. Right, now, do you understand me?’ Bruce practically yelled, his gaze falling back to Tim who was staring at the poster again, silent tears falling down his face.

‘The camera was cut out in the storm. I only went to check all was okay.’ The boy muttered, although whether it was directed at Bruce was anybody’s guess. Leslie pursed her lips as this and motioned for Bruce to follow her.  
‘Manners cost us nothing Bruce.’ She chided before moving to open the double doors that lead further into the clinic. ‘If you’ll come with me. I feel that you would not believe me if I told you.’

Bruce’s frown deepened, running in all the information he had through his head, before focusing on the black dinner jacket held firmly in Tim’s arms and the packet of cigarettes he still held in his own. A chill ran down his spine and the cigarettes crumpled in his fist.  
‘Leslie, tell me what’s going on.’ His voice barely above a whisper he closed his eyes before looking back up at the doctor, his guardian. ‘Please.’  
Dr Thompkin’s merely pursed her lips again and walked through the door knowing that Bruce would follow her and damn it all Bruce knew she was right. 

The corridor seemed to last forever. Leslie was talking to him, telling him about trusted surgeons she had managed to get in and something about skin grafts but the words wafted over him like a mist, settling around him but he couldn’t take in the meaning. Who was she talking about? He looked down at the packet of cigarettes still being crushed in his fist and he felt his chest constrict.  
‘Bruce? Bruce!’  
Raising his eyes he cocked an eyebrow at Leslie who was motioning towards a small window that looked into a side room, the pale blue blinds were closed to allow the patient privacy.  
‘He’s in here Bruce. I’m sorry.’  
‘Who?’ It couldn’t be Dick, he was away with the Titans. Tim was sat in the waiting room. The packet of cigarettes felt as heavy as lead in his hand.

Striding over he flipped up the blinds and peered into the little room determined to get to the bottom of this confusion once and for all. He wasn’t in the mood for these games. There was a small figure lying in the hospital bed, a young boy from what he could make out from the horrendous amount of dressings, plaster casts and machines he was hooked up to. Bruce looked up at the boy’s face and time felt like it stood still. His chest contracted to a painful degree and his vision distorted slightly, he couldn’t breathe. The packet of crumpled cigarettes fell forgotten onto the polished floor.  
‘Timothy found him in the cemetery Bruce. ‘  
Leslie’s voice carried through the fog, pulling Bruce back to reality and he shook his head.  
‘It’s not him.’

A file of medical notes was pressed into his hands, which he immediately opened and studied with a fine toothed comb, peeling his eyes away from the comatose teenager.  
‘It is Jason, Bruce.’ Leslie insisted pointing out the detailed log of the boy’s condition. ‘The injuries. They conclude with digging out of a grave, being beaten by a blunt object and – and the flash burns explain themselves.’  
Bruce stared at the notes and shook his head again, the file beginning to bend beneath his iron tight grip.  
‘That does not prove anything other than what lead to this boy being so ill. That does not prove that he is my Jason.’ He hissed angrily through gritted teeth.  
Leslie shook her head and glanced back at Jason, she thought that Bruce would react badly to the news but he was excelling her predictions as usual, he’d even used the term ‘my Jason’, although he probably did not realise that Freudian slip.

‘Turn to the next page Bruce. We still have Jason’s DNA on file. I ran the tests, multiple times with multiple samples, they all came back as conclusive. He is Jason. I don’t know how he has come back to us but he has. That’s him. Back in the waiting room you recognised the jacket.’ Bending down she picked up the cigarettes and placed them on top of the file pointedly. ‘You recognised the cigarettes you had placed in the pocket yourself. Bruce you knew it was him before I even brought you to him.’

‘No!’ Bruce roared, throwing the note away, forcing the doctor to dive out of the way to avoid being struck by the them but Bruce didn’t care. Flashes of fire and smoke tore through his mind’s eye, the small, broken body, blood. ‘Is this some sick joke? That boy in there is not Jason. Jason is dead. I held him, I held him in my arms, in my god damn arms. I watched, I felt him take his last breath so don’t you dare, don’t you dare think you can trick me into believing otherwise .’

‘Bruce’ Leslie stepped away from the wall she plastered herself against and stared him down, cold and hard. ‘You know I would never trick you like that. Despite my personal beliefs of your use of vulnerable children in your personal crusade, I have stuck by you. Through it all, even after Jason’s murder I’ve stayed, when all I want to do is pick up that boy currently stood in my waiting room and take him to social services, reveal your identity to the GCPD but I don’t, because I am loyal to you. Whether you like it or not that is Jason in that bed, deal with it.’

‘Tim has parents Leslie. It’s different. I’m different this time.’  
Deflection, what Bruce Wayne did best. Sighing Leslie shot him a wry smile and folded her arms.  
‘Is that so Bruce? Funny, when my receptionist asked his permission to contact his parents he claimed they were out of town. I am inclined to believe his claim due to a lack of concern as to the boy’s whereabouts when he is with you.’

Bruce lifted his head and remained still for a long moment, before stepping forwards and opening the door to Jason’s room. He ignored Leslie who started talking again, making his way slowly over to the boy’s bedside. His face so tranquil in his medicalised coma, his features so like Jason’s. Beneath the stitches and bandages he could make out a familiar scar just below his left eye, where a domino mask ended. Jason had earnt that one on his first night out as Robin, catching the blade of a random thug, too busy staring at himself in a shop window’s reflection to notice the threat. His finger’s made their way into the boy’s thick, wavy hair and for a second, just a split second he could believe that it really was Jason lying beneath him. Alive. Pulling himself together he collected a syringe from the medical trolley nearby and moved to a patch of skin he could find on his arm and collected a blood sample.  
‘Bruce what-‘  
‘I’m prepared to look into your claim, Leslie. I shall be back with the results shortly.’  
‘But Bruce you have seen the test results.’  
‘Not my tests I haven’t’ Bruce growled before leaving the room just as swiftly as he entered it, slamming through the double doors to the waiting room.

‘Tim?’  
‘Yes sir?’ Tim answered, immediately standing to attention, the jacket still held in his hands.  
‘Come. We’re leaving.’ Bruce instructed before heading towards the exit without a second glance in the thirteen year olds direction. Tim gaped at his back and shook his head in shocked confusion.  
‘But Bruce? Jason? Why –‘  
‘That’s why we are leaving Tim. We are also going to be having a discussion as to the whereabouts of your parents, young man.’  
‘What!’ Tim dug his heels in and folded his arms in defiance. ‘No. No Bruce. I’m staying here, you need to stay here!’  
Bruce stopped, closing his eyes he counted slowly to ten before moving over to Tim, hoisting him over his shoulder and walking out of the clinic, ignoring how the boy yelled, kicked and flailed about in a bid to regain his freedom.  
‘Pipe down, I’ll put you down when we get to the car.’

Leslie watched Bruce leave with Tim with a heavy heart, that could have gone better but she supposed it would only be an hour or two before Bruce was back in her clinic, yelling about what care his son was receiving, second guessing every single medical decision she’d made and demanding to know when Jason would be well enough for transfer to the manor. Running a weary hand across her brow, Leslie decided that a cup of coffee was in order and then she’d start sorting out the necessary paperwork for Jason, before trying to clear as many patients as possible before Bruce Wayne appeared, all guns blazing.


	5. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay.
> 
> Student nurse so exams and placement got in the way plus I fell into my usual trap of starting other fics because I just like making life interesting!
> 
> Enjoy

The car ride back to the manor was the longest, most painful journey that Tim had ever experienced but at least he wasn't being taken home. Glancing across at Bruce who was glaring at the road as if it were a personal insult, Tim swallowed when he remembered exactly why he wasn't being taken home. His eyes fell to Bruce's hands which were gripping the steering wheel so tightly the teenager couldn't help but wonder how strong the man actually was because if that grip was to get any tighter he was fairly certain the wheel would snap.  
'Bruce?' Tim finally managed to dig up enough courage to speak even if it did come out as a barely there whisper. Bruce didn't reply, he didn't even look up from the road, the only reaction was an increase of speed as his foot connected with the floor.  
'Never mind.' Tim mumbled, deciding to abandon all attempt at conversation and study Jason's jacket still in his hands. 

He couldn't believe they were driving back to the manor, leaving him all alone in a hospital bed. He hadn't even seen Jason since Leslie had finished treating him. Tim whimpered and refocused his attention on the rain dripping down the window, he had to fight the urge to not open the door and jump out as the car sped along. Jump out and run all the way back to the clinic to be with Jason, to sit by his side, hold his hand and let him know he wasn't alone. See for himself that the boy was out of danger.

Rain drops ran down the glass and Tim found himself captivated by them. How they rolled down, joining up with each other, leaving a trail of droplets behind them. The same pattern repeated over and over again. All interconnecting, going in different directions but the end result always the same. Like life in a way, events rolling into each other, connecting and rolling down towards their final goal, regardless of which path they took. Only Timothy Drake could find a philosophical metaphor in a few rain drops on a car window.

'Timothy. Out of the car. I won't tell you again.'  
Bruce's voice boomed.  
Blinking, Tim lifted his head and frowned when he discovered that the car had stopped and they were now parked up outside the manor, but not the Batcave. Why not the cave?  
Oh, right. Looking from Bruce to his own attire Tim nodded slightly. They were both in civilian clothing.  
'Sorry.' He mumbled quietly before quickly releasing the seatbelt and clambering out. Tim raised his eyes to Bruce but the man had already stormed up the manors steps, slamming open the front door with frightening velocity.

'Master Bruce?' Alfred could be heard striding to the entrance hall to meet him but Bruce just strode past, barely glancing at the Butler or acknowledging the worry in his voice.  
'Master Timothy, oh thank goodness your alright.'  
Tim did not raise his head, he couldn't, for fear that if he saw Alfred, his kind face etched with concern, he would shatter into a million pieces, so instead Tim studied his boots. The only part of his costume that remained.  
'Hey'  
Alfred could be heard moving down the stone steps before a firm hand was placed on his trembling shoulder.  
'Good lord. Master Timothy? What on earth has happened?' Alfred questioned taking in the boy's bloody and soiled appearance.  
'I'm so sorry Alfred.'  
The butler observed the boy for a moment before shaking his head and steering him inside by a firm hand placed on his shoulder.  
'What for young sir? Would you like me to contact your parents?' 

'Tim's parents are out of town apparently.' Bruce reappeared by the foot of the grand staircase, arms folded he cocked an eyebrow. 'Isn't that so young man?'  
'Yes sir. I'm sorry sir.'  
'Master Timothy?' Alfred's concerned frown increased before he shook his head with a sigh and looked up towards Bruce.  
'Am I to assume that we have a little guest for the foreseeable then sir?'  
'Indeed, it does seem that way Alfred. Tim, cave, now. I think we need to have a little chat don't we?'

Roaring Tim suddenly sprung to life ,and he flailed his arms dramatically around him in frustration.  
'You really want to talk about my parents right now? What the fuck Bruce?'  
'Language Timothy! We shall continue this discussion in the cave.' Bruce shot back throwing a pointed look at Alfred but the teenager appeared to not pick up on it.  
'At least my parents would believe me if I said I wasn't dead!' Tim yelled before halting abruptly and turning to Alfred who was looking ever so slightly confused by the heated exchange. Swallowing Tim shakily handed over Jason's jacket which Alfred accepted silently, looking down at the soiled material blankly.  
'I'm sorry Alfred you should not have found out like that.'

The butler nodded curtly, his grip tightening around the jacket significantly.  
'You have nothing to apologise for sir.'  
Inhaling deeply Alfred looked up at Bruce who was looking up at him blankly and inclined his head again.  
'If you'll excuse me sir I- I- I must attend to something in the kitchen.'  
With that the butler was gone, jacket held close to him in trembling hands, the only betrayal of his emotional state.  
'Cave Timothy.'  
'Yes sir.' Tim muttered, looking after Alfred he sighed and made his way slowly downstairs.

So it was back to tense, brooding silence. Tim followed Bruce as he stormed about the Batcave with his eyes. Watching him retrieve a blood sample from his pocket, Jason's blood, his stomach performed more somersaults than Dick as he watched his mentor start up a DNA test on the Batcomputer. Bruce did believe that Jason had come back then, he was just trying everything in his power to make it not so. He wouldn't believe any other test results except his own. Tim couldn't help but smile slightly and relax in his chair with this knowledge. It wouldn't be long and he'd be able to go back to the clinic with Bruce to see Jason, he just had to wait for the test results to come back positive, which they would.

'So, your parents Tim. Where are they?' Bruce suddenly spoke turning to study him intently. Feeling more like a test specimen than the common criminal that he had thought Bruce would make him feel like, Tim winced and shrunk back into his chair.  
'I- they, well, they are on a cruise. In the Caribbean. They left last week.'  
'Last week? And where are you meant to be staying?' Bruce questioned, clearly assuming Tim had absconded from somewhere. The thought was laughable.  
'Not here? Most of the staff have been given leave but the housekeeper still calls around from time to time.' Tim shrugged wishing that there was some way that he could shrink back entirely into the material of the chair to avoid the hard stare currently bearing into him.  
'From time to time? When was the last time you heard from your parents, Tim? When?'  
'Tuesday.'  
'Tuesday? Yesterday?'  
Wincing again Tim wondered how far he could get if he made a run for it before Bruce caught up with him. Not far, probably to the lockers, if Bruce was caught by surprise earning him a few extra seconds. No, it would not be in his best interest to run away.  
'Last week Tuesday. Bruce it's fine, seriously. I'm used to it. You don't need to worr-'  
'Last week! Used to it? Tim how long has this been going on for?' Bruce spluttered his gaze turning from hard and cold to bemused and horrified. It was an, odd, reaction to something Tim perceived to be completely normal and mundane. Everyone went on holiday from time to time?

'Normally when Janet starts crying, mainly in the mornings. You know things aren't right when she cries in the mornings. Dad will take her away for a bit to recuperate. They come back but she only starts crying again. I prefer her to be happy so I don't mind. She probably cries because of me.'  
'Janet?'  
'Janet Drake? My mother?'  
Tim was liking this conversation less and less and the concern in Bruce's face made him feel sick and uneasy.  
'When are they due back?'

Shrugging Tim looked over at the Batcomputer analysing Jason's DNA, hoping that the motion would change the conversation, it didn't.  
'Tim I-'  
'No. Just drop it Bruce okay? I'm fine. I can look after myself for a few weeks.' Tim spat. 'Not that they look after me when their home anyway.' He added silently in his head but knew that Bruce probably heard it regardless.  
Sighing Bruce crouched down in front of the thirteen year old and took hold of his hand. A movement which startled Tim and he looked up at the man warily.  
'Tim, you are a minor. It is not acceptable for you to be left alone like this. Your staying here at the manor until your parents return do you understand?'  
Sighing Tim nodded and dropped his gaze to study the large, calloused hand holding his.  
'Every time your parents go away you are to come here. That's an order.'

Before anyone could make any further comment the Batcomputer beeped and the expected result popped up on the screen.  
Positive. That boy lying in Leslie's clinic was Jason Todd.  
Tim watched silently as Bruce stood slowly and made his way over to stare at the screen. He wasn't sure how long they remained like that, staring at the computer screen, just in case the results changed or something.

'Sirs I have taken the liberty of starting the car. Might Master Timothy consent to wearing a coat this time?' Alfred appeared behind them, carrying a rather large flask and one of Tim's jackets that the lad wasn't even going to try and work out how he got hold of.  
Nodding Tim looked up at Bruce who had closed his eyes before pushing himself off the console and making his way up to the manor and back to the car he had left not half an hour ago.  
'Come Master Timothy. I feel our presence will be needed.' Alfred instructed blankly, before placing his hand on the boys shoulder again and following after Bruce. 'Need I remind you that Master Bruce does not wait.'

Tim stood in front of the door to Jason's room, millimetres from the door handle but yet it still seemed miles out of his reach. Bruce had long since disappeared inside. His muffled voice could be heard through the door. Talking to Jason, to Alfred, telling his miracle son that it was going to be okay, that he had got him, he wasn't letting him go ever again. 

Tim just stood outside the door, listening, forgotten about. He didn't mind being forgotten about he was used to it and this was Jason freaking Todd. Of course he was forgotten about he wasn't the important one here, he didn't belong here. It wasn't as if Bruce would want him around, not now. Once Jason was awake and got better he would be Robin. The mantle was his, not Tim's. Tim had just been a vice to fill a void. The void by some impossibility has been brought back, Tim was redundant now. A few months and he'd be back in his empty house with his camera. Sighing the boy leant his head back and closed his eyes. He supposed he was kind of okay with that if it meant Jason was back, that he was alive.

'Timothy?'  
Blinking he looked up at Leslie who was smiling down at him, she looked just as exhausted as he was if not more so.  
'Good evening Doctor Thompkins, or is it morning now?' He asked frowning back at the door again he tried to calculate the passage of time. It was a useful distraction.  
'It's morning Timothy. My receptionist informed me that Bruce had arrived. Is he in there?'  
Nodding Tim shuffled a bit before stepping out of the way to permit the doctor access.  
'Yes. Alfred is there too. Is he okay? Jason?'

Pursing her lips at the boy who blinked up at her with wide anxious eyes Leslie knelt down and placed a firm, grounding hand on his shoulder.  
'Come in with me Timothy, see for yourself. You deserve to be in there just as much as Bruce. You found him Timothy. Without you Jason would have ended up God knows where, cold, frightened and alone. You saved him.'  
Tim shook his head and looked away, studying the speck of water on the doctor's shoes. How long has she been wearing those shoes for now? Her feet must hurt.  
'I was just in the right place at the right time. I didn't do anything.'  
Sighing Leslie stood up and knocked on the door.  
'You and I both know that's not true. Now come on, I will not have lurkers in my corridors.'

Nodding slightly Tim shuffled into Jason's room behind Leslie, nestling himself safely in the far corner next to the medical trolley.  
Jason.  
There he was. Alive. His skin a rosy pink compared to how it was in the cemetery. Well, the skin he could see. The boy was covered head to foot on bandages, stitches and plaster casts. A breathing tube taped to his mouth, along with a chest drain and other tubes feeding into him. Connecting him to machines that kept him alive with every beep and click.

Swallowing he looked over at Bruce, sat by Jason's bedside, his hands wrapped firmly around his son's, eyes glued to his face as if he thought if he let go, if he looked away, Jason would vanish. Tim knew that feeling. Alfred maintained his British stiff upper lip, a hand resting firmly on Bruce's shoulder.  
Looking away the teenager took to studying the readings on the machines, working them all out, figuring out what each one did. 

'How? How did this happen?' Bruce ground out not looking up from his vigil.  
'I don't know Bruce. I've run test after test but nothing. It's like he just woke up spontaneously. He has been brought back to the moment of death. All traces of decomposition has gone.'  
'Not good enough.'  
'Master Bruce, that is not how you speak to the good doctor who has saved Jason's life.' Alfred chided, his grip increasing on his wards shoulder.

Nodding stiffly, Bruce closed his eyes and lifted Jason's hand to his lips.  
'My apologies Leslie. Thank you.' Refocusing on Jason's face again Bruce's lips thinned. 'Can I take him home? Please?'  
Bruce had never sounded so vulnerable, his voice croaking when he said the word home.  
Eyes widening Tim turned to watch Leslie purse her lips and nod. There was more he just knew it.  
'Bruce?'  
There it was.  
'Bruce, I understand that this has been a lot to take in. Jason will be stable enough for transfer either today or tomorrow. That's not why I'm here.'  
Tearing his eyes away from Jason, Bruce frowned before turning back to study him again.  
'What's wrong with him?'

Leslie blinked and shook her head slightly, opening her notes with surprisingly steady hands. She never could get used to Bruce being able to read her like that.  
'Bruce. The brain stem test was positive. It's is functioning and Jason can and will sustain life.'  
'But?'  
'But. The damage sustained to his brain, predominantly around the frontal and temporal lobes was substantial. I've done my best to relieve the pressure but'  
'It won't be until Jason wakes up that it will be apparent how bad the brain damage is.' Bruce finalised with a stiff nod. 'He still comes home. Where he belongs.'  
Leslie bowed her head slightly and left the room. Offering her condolences and good byes as she left.

Tim remained in his corner. Watching the machines. Pretending not to see the tears in his mentors eyes. Brain damage. No, no Jason was going to be just fine, he was. Even Doctor Thompkins wasn't one hundred percent sure he would be brain damaged. No, no everything would be just fine.  
'Tim?'  
Jumping Tim lifted his head and looked over at Bruce who was staring right at him, a small smile on his face.  
'Come say hello.'  
Tim has seen unconscious people, hell he'd seen dead people, far too many dead people. Jason was different though, he knew Jason.

Walking over as bidden, Tim swallowed down a knot of anxiety and looked down at the comatose boy. With a shaky hand he reached out and touched Jason's hand.  
'H-hello. Jason. My names Tim.'  
Gasping Tim's eyes flew to Jason's heart rate as it spiked momentarily before settling again.  
'I think Jace knows his saviour when he hears him' Bruce smiled reaching over to hold Tim's hand that was around Jason's.  
'This doesn't change anything Tim.'  
Tim didn't know what to say, his throat was dry and he couldn't swallow if he tried.  
A hand rested on his shoulder.

'I think Master Timothy you have had enough excitement for one night. Come, Master Bruce shall follow shortly with Master Jason. I think it best you get some rest young sir.' Alfred suggested in a way that meant that if Tim knew what was good for him he was going to do as told. It hadn't taken long for the boy to work that one out when it came to the butler.  
Nodding Tim squeezed Jason's hand.  
'I'm glad your okay. I'll see you when you come home Jason.' Lifting his eyes he held Bruce's gaze. 'You'll send for me? When you come home?'  
Nodding Bruce chuckled and shook his head.  
'I shall make sure Alfred wakes you yes. Now, go Tim and, thank you. Just don't disobey my orders again do you understand?'  
Nodding Tim smiled and let Alfred escort him out of the clinic and into the car. Bruce had just, thanked him. 

He didn't remember the journey back to the manor. Before he knew it he was flopping underneath the bedcovers and closing tired eyes. One mantra doing circuits around his head.  
Jason was alive, Jason was coming home, Jason was not brain damaged.'


End file.
